The Sentinels the carving of the way

She gave him a wry smile, for she had expected nothing less of her request. Szymon Cairn, said the man, his voice a deep timbre - something she was not used to - weaved in with an accent she had never heard before. He is one; the voices stirred within her, manifestations of her personality. They spoke within her, pushing her to the thought that he was The One, for he was her first.

Wanderer widened her eyes but almost imperceptibly, an expression of small pleasure. She had not expected the male to peer so much into the purpose of her ledger. It was simply a ledger, but she carried it by her side always; it was the culmination of her experiences, almost sacred.

Could you allow yourself to be nothing? Wanderer hummed out, in a tune known to her from her birth-tribe. She thought nothing of the muscle memory, instead taking solace in the familiar noise ringing in her ears. I am none, she said then, for if he was one, then she was none, for she existed in her mind before he had and she encompassed everything in her thoughts - one could not come from nothing, and so none must have existed before one.

This quirk she tucked away, for should she release such thoughts she'd surely be seen as mad.

I choose to name myself the Wanderer; they call me Alttayih in their native tongue.